…

…

For long minutes after the door closed behind Ji-hoo, Jan-di stood rooted to the spot, leaning against the wall for support. Did that really just happen? The dreamlike memory of Ji-hoo’s searing kiss played through her mind on a loop. She brushed her fingertips against her lips in wonder, and blushed as she remembered how enthusiastically she had reciprocated.

“Aish!” What had come over her? She didn’t think of Ji-hoo sunbae that way… did she? There was nothing like that between them… was there? The warmth curling through her body right now certainly didn’t feel like nothing. She blushed again as her mind flashed back to the way she had gripped his shirt in her fists, pulling him closer as if—

“No,” she said aloud, stopping the stream of thoughts and images before they could overwhelm her. The effects of the alcohol were clouding her brain, and she was too exhausted to think anymore tonight. She would deal with all this in the morning, when she was more clearheaded. Yes, that’s what she would do. It would all make more sense in the morning.

So thinking, she stumbled up the stairs to her room, stripped off her party clothes, and managed to get her nightgown over her head before she collapsed on her pillow, already half asleep.

Her dreams were interesting that night.

…

For Ji-hoo’s part, he managed to make it down Jan-di’s hallway and into the elevator before giving in to a triumphant fist pump. “Yes!” he exulted, casting off his cool façade to indulge in a little schoolboy celebration. Jan-di’s neighbor, an elderly woman who had walked up to use the elevator, took one look at the crazy grin on Jihoo’s face and wisely chose to wait for the next one. The doors closed.

“She kissed me back,” he said wonderingly, still unable to believe the way she had unexpectedly melted at his touch, the way her lips had met his and answered with equal passion. It was better than he had dared to imagine. He had wanted so much to stay, to carry her to the overstuffed couch, pull her close, and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. But he knew that charging the beachhead like that wouldn’t win this war. It might even backfire, causing her to put up walls that weren’t there before.

No, this campaign called for strategy and patience. Fortunately for Yoon Ji-hoo, honorary firefighter, he knew a thing or two about patience.

…

The next morning dawned bright and sunshiny, the glare filling the bedroom and causing Jan-di to wish she had remembered to close her blinds the night before. She wasn’t hung over, exactly—she hadn’t drunk enough for that—but she definitely had a headache. Sitting up in bed, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. That’s when the memory of the previous night slammed back into her like a freight train. She grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it, kicking her legs and squealing like a child at the thought of facing Ji-hoo sunbae at work this morning. What would she say to him? And what would he say?

A little voice in Jan-di’s head asked the most frightening question of all: what did she want him to say?

Her alarm clock went off, reminding her that she needed to hurry and get Hee-jin to preschool if she wanted to be on time for work. Leaving all of her questions unanswered, she vaulted off the bed and into Hee-jin’s room to wake her up.

…

When Jan-di arrived at the clinic, she was relieved to find that Ji-hoo was already closed in his office with a patient. She greeted the two families in the waiting room, taking down their information and getting them something to drink before seeing in the first patient, a young girl with a case of strep throat. Jan-di led the nervous girl and her equally nervous mother into her office, smiling and chatting to put them at ease.

They left fifteen minutes later with a prescription for antibiotics and the address of a job placement agency for the mother, who had opened up to Jan-di about her unsuccessful search for work and her worry over the bills. Before going out the door, she turned and hugged the young doctor. “Thank you.”

With a smile, Jan-di called the next patient.

And so the day went. Jan-di enjoyed what she did immensely. Not just the healing of the body with medicine, but the feeding of the battered soul with those nutrients that were often in short supply in the world at large: compassion, empathy, patience, and caring. Jan-di liked to think that the people she helped in the clinic went out into their lives and fed others in the same way. She saw fewer patients in a day than most other doctors, but the patients never complained about the wait. Instead, they lined up to see her. Maybe they couldn’t put it into words, but many of them desperately needed what she gave them so freely: the warmth of human connection.

Ji-hoo, too, was busy all day, although he did manage to catch glimpses of Jan-di on her way to or from the waiting room. He laughed when he saw her giving a wild piggy back ride to a giggling three year old boy who, only a moment before, had been crying his eyes out in fear of the doctor. She zoomed around the clinic, neighing and jumping, until the small patient was hiccupping with laughter. Ji-hoo was dazzled by her, as always. With everything that had happened to her, how could she still have so much left to give other people? The more she poured herself out, the kinder and stronger she seemed to grow. Ji-hoo admired her warm vitality more now than ever.    

…

Lunchtime came and went, but Jan-di was preoccupied by her patients. With Dr. Park on vacation, she and Ji-hoo sunbae had been putting in some long days. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until well after two, when her empty stomach gave a loud gurgle right in the middle of a consultation. She swiftly finished stitching up the laceration on her middle aged patient’s head, gave him some advice (“Maybe you should check how big the guy is before you insult his mother next time, ok?”), and grabbed her purse, ready to head out the door in search of food. Before she could exit her office, Ji-hoo was there in the doorway, holding a bag from the jjajangmyeon shop down the street and smiling at her in his lopsided way.

Her heart gave a not-unpleasant thump.

“I could hear your stomach growling through the wall,” he teased with a grin.

She sat down awkwardly in a chair and watched him pull containers out of the bag, setting them out on her desk and arranging the chopsticks on top of the napkins. He wasn’t looking at her, so she took advantage of his distraction to study him. Unlike Jan-di, he didn’t look agitated at all. She wondered if he was going to bring up what had happened last night, and desperately tried to think of what she would say in return. Maybe she should start the conversation.

“Uh…sunbae…”

“Here,” Ji-hoo said, handing her an open can of apple juice. “Eat first. Talk later.” He pulled up the other chair in the room and sat down across from her. Before she could open , he had pulled the lids off the side dishes and scooped some sweet radish into her bowl. When she showed signs of protesting, he snatched up a piece of pork with his chopsticks and stuffed it into her open mouth.

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Finally, with the sauce still dripping down her chin, she burst into laughter, and Ji-hoo joined her. The tension was broken.

They ate lunch in companionable silence, cutting it short in consideration of the larger-than-normal crowd of patients still waiting to be seen today. When Jan-di rose to clear up the lunch containers, Ji-hoo handed her another can of juice instead, and moved to gather the trash himself. With a casual “Time to get back to work!” tossed over his shoulder, he swept out of her office as unceremoniously as he had appeared.

Jan-di, shaking her head, consulted the patient list and called in the next person waiting in line. For the rest of the afternoon, her day was a blur of people, symptoms, and paperwork. There was no time left for asking herself hard questions, and that was just the way she liked it.

…

It was almost 7:00 when Jan-di ushered the last patient, and old ajhumma with arthritis, to the door. Looking over, she saw that Ji-hoo’s office was already dark.

Hmph… he didn’t even tell me he was leaving, she thought with an uncharacteristic stab of irritation. I guess he doesn’t have anything to say to me after all. That’s fine. It’s not like I was waiting around for him.

She was still muttering under her breath when she pushed her way through the clinic’s outer door to find Ji-hoo waiting for her at the curb, sitting lazily astride his motorcycle with his spare helmet in his hands. He held it out to her without a word.

She paused in surprise. Since he chose not to speak, she didn’t either. Her hand brushed against his as she took the helmet from him, and a frisson of electricity seemed to travel up her arm. She pulled the tightly-fitted helmet over her head and mounted the bike behind Ji-hoo with one practiced motion.  He started the engine, but didn’t take off right away. Instead, he reached around behind him and grasped Jan-di’s wrists, pulling her arms securely around his waist.

She was suddenly very aware of how closely she was pressed up against his broad, warm back. She didn’t have long to think about it, though, before Ji-hoo was accelerating wildly out of the parking lot, forcing her to tighten her grip even more to keep from falling off. Unseen by Jan-di, he was smirking with satisfaction.

…

The evening air was cool, and the lights of Seoul were just coming on as they rode out of the city and toward the place where the sun had just set below the horizon. Jan-di was glad for her down-lined jacket and the shelter of Ji-hoo’s body, which kept most of the wind off. When it had become clear that they were not heading back to Jan-di’s apartment, her curiosity had been piqued. Was he planning on driving all the way to the ocean? She wasn’t worried about Hee-jin; she had been picked up from preschool today by her grandparents. She was spending the night with them so that Jan-di’s father could take her fishing for the first time tomorrow.  But Jan-di did wonder where they were going. Now that she was alone with sunbae, her mind flew back to last night’s kiss like a moth to a light. Her nervousness increased. She wished he would explain what was happening.

As if sensing the rising tide of her emotions, Ji-hoo reached down and squeezed Jan-di’s hand reassuringly. It did calm her. She let her ramrod stiff body relax against him a little and tried to quiet the storm in her mind by watching the houses go by. Idly, she wondered about all the people who lived inside them. What passions and dramas played themselves out behind the curtains? What loves and fears drove them? Was everyone’s life as wonderful and terrifying as hers? She was still thinking about it when the bike slowed and Ji-hoo pulled off the main road onto a dirt path that wound over a tree-covered hill. They followed the curves of the path for over half a mile while the daylight grew dimmer around them. Finally, they broke through onto a wide, grassy bluff that ended in a steep cliff.

Ji-hoo braked to a stop and cut the engine. He held the bike steady as Jan-di slid to the ground, then put down the kickstand and dismounted. He pulled off his helmet, setting it on the seat, before turning to help Jan-di remove hers.

She held her breath as he unfastened the straps, then gently hooked his fingers under the edge of the helmet and pulled up on it until she was free. The breeze felt delicious as it lifted the hair off her neck.

Ji-hoo set her helmet next to his, and then reached down to take her hand. When she looked up at him questioningly, he just smiled and drew her across the grass until they were standing next to each other a few feet from the edge of the cliff.

Looking down, she saw a small town spread out on the rolling hills below them. It was bordered on one side by a wide stream and on the other by the long road that came from the north and passed beside the little settlement before disappearing into a cleft between two hills to the south. From here, she could make out a church, a short street bordered by shops on both sides, and dozens of houses. The quilt-like patches of farms could be seen scattered around outside the boundaries of the small community. The population of the town was perhaps 600 people, all told. As Ji-hoo and Jan-di stood watching, lights were coming on inside the houses, one after the other.

“I found this place just a few weeks after Jun-pyo died,” Ji-hoo said without turning his head.

This wasn’t what Jan-di was expecting. Her brow furrowed, but she kept listening.

“I was… not doing well. I couldn’t stop thinking—all the memories. Childhood. Jokes we shared. Fights we had. Watching him change when he met you. It just seemed so wrong, that I was here and he wasn’t. I… wanted to be there for you and Hee-jin, but I didn’t know how. You were still hurting so much.” He sighed deeply, remembering.

Jan-di squeezed his hand, silently encouraging him to go on.

Ji-hoo raised his eyes to the village in the valley. “I was just out riding around when I found this road, and this view. I stood here for hours, watching the people moving through the streets, seeing the windows light up one by one. I tried to imagine all of them down there, mothers and teachers and shopkeepers and children, living their lives.”

Jan-di was struck, not for the first time, by the sense that Ji-hoo sunbae could somehow read her mind.

“I could almost see them down there, loving and working and losing the people that they love—just like I lost my parents. Just like you lost Jun-pyo.” He paused again, glancing over at her to try to measure her reaction.

Her eyes were still trained on the valley below.

Ji-hoo’s voice was quieter as he continued. “Looking on from the distance, it was as if I was seeing from a new perspective. I know that the people down there have their own worries and losses and heartaches, but all I saw when I looked down from this hill was life. Relentless, stubborn, noisy life. For the first time, I saw clearly what I couldn’t see when I was wrapped up in my own loss: that life, whatever else it does, goes on.” He took a breath, as if he had more to add, but then he didn’t. Instead, he pulled Jan-di over to stand in front of him, both of them looking down into the quiet night streets of the town, and wrapped both of his arms around her shoulders.

They stood that way for a long time, until the light fled from the sky and the settlement below looked like a constellation of fiery stars suspended in space. The air was now noticeably chilly. Jan-di gave an involuntary shiver.

Ji-hoo, realizing that it was getting late and cold, had one more thing to say. He turned Jan-di to face him.

She looked up into his face, slightly illuminated in the pale light cast by the crescent moon, and wondered if he was going to kiss her again. With a shock, she realized that she wanted him to.

With gentle fingers under her chin, he tilted her face up. His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips to her hair, as if he was studying her. He smoothed a lock of hair back behind her ear and leaned closer. His voice, when it came, was almost a whisper.

“I think you know that when I kissed you last night, it wasn’t an impulse.” A small smile twitched his mouth up at the corners. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time, Jan-di-ah.”

His voice was like a caress. She felt the blush creeping up her neck, and was glad for the obscuring darkness.

“There are… things… I want to ask you. I’ve never wanted anything more. But I need to know your heart first. I need to know if you are ready. I need to know if you think you can… move on.”

His eyes now were troubled. She could read the doubts there, and they pricked at her heart. She opened as if she would say something, but before she could, he gently touched her lips with one finger, stopping her words.

“Don’t rush to answer, Jan-di. The human heart is a complicated thing, and there is no schedule for grief, no map for love after loss. Take time, as much as you need. Know yourself. I promise that I will be your friend for your whole life, no matter what else happens between us.”

Here he his fingers lightly against her neck before sliding them down her arms and grasping her small hands in his large, warm ones. “But you need to make sure of your heart, my friend, because when you come to me—if you come to me…” His eyes held hers captive, “… I want all of you.”

…

…

…